Whirlwind
by Cr1mson5
Summary: They don't have time to think as the universe breaks apart around them.


**Anything you recognize here as being expressly the property of DC Comics does not belong to me. Standard disclaimers are applicable.**

**Rating: T for safety**

***This is set post-reboot. For those of you who haven't heard yet or just aren't paying attention anymore, DC Comics is doing a massive re-launch of several titles come September. This is kind of what I imagine would happen that would pit all the books they're publishing at their starting points.***

The people are trapped in it, a whirlwind of colors that swirls and churns and carries them away in its folds, and strangely enough, their faces testify to the fact that they don't really care. Some of it's probably shock. Some of it's probably cynicism. And some of it is probably intense, gripping, immobilizing fear. Tim isn't really sure which one he's feeling right now.

He cradles the girl he loves in his arms, wondering if she'll still be there after all of this is over. He doesn't know for certain—can't remember the last time he's lived through anything like this—but he still holds her close, not wanting to let go until his arms won't wrap around her anymore. She's practically lying across his lap, her fists clenched tightly in his cape and resting on his collarbone, her face buried in his chest. She's not looking around. She doesn't want to. He knows what that's like, and if he had the luxury of looking away right now, he would. But he can't, so he doesn't.

Tim strokes her soft mane of dark brown hair and whispers a reassurance. "It's going to be okay, Tam," he says to her. "Everything's going to be just fine."

One fist beats against his body. "Don't lie to me," she sobs. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

Tim wants to tell her the truth of what he's thinking. He wants to say that it all depends on what role they play in the cosmic games, how important they are to the outcome of this round. He wants to explain that, on this chessboard, they're all pawns, just with slightly different rankings. But no, he doesn't want to infect her with any more unnecessary despair. He's already thinking of what it would be like if one or both of them doesn't make the cut. So, he swallows hard and tells her the only thing that comes to mind to assuage her fears. "I don't know."

Tam throws her arms around him, and he keeps her warmth pressed close to him as he watches Gotham City fade away into the colors. It's so bright, so beautiful, and for a moment, he's mesmerized by it. A quick shake of the head remedies that, though. He needs to stay focused, to stay strong. If he gets pulled in, who's going to take care of Tam?

He doesn't remember much of the tail end of any of the Crises, the Multiverse shatters that he only heard about while eavesdropping on the JLA. Perhaps it was for the best, anyway. The people who could remember always seemed to have a screw loose…like the pressure was too much for them. He shudders a little at the thought of being like that. He hopes he won't be able to remember this, later on.

From the discussions he's overheard, the ones he was never allowed to be a part of, the changes should start anytime soon. They say it's terribly frightening, like backtracking to being a newborn but still as awake and aware as ever, knowing that you're being altered against your will. That's why Tim has to stay strong, because that will scare Tam like nothing she's ever seen before.

"Tim?"

Her voice floats up from his shoulder, where she's turned her face so she can't see what's happening around them. "What is it?"

"Do you think we'll know what's going on, if we die?"

"Um…" He's not sure how to answer that. "I guess so."

Tam sniffles. Damn it, she's crying now, and he can't make it better. "I don't want to see it coming."

"Just don't starting looking, and you won't."

Pins and needles start up in his legs, and he gets the odd sense that it's not just because Tam is laying on them. His mouth goes dry, and he tries not to let himself dwell on the fact that the two of them are next. He doesn't want to have to picture what'll happen to them, either one of them, if they're not of enough consequence to keep from getting torn apart. Tam's voice brings him back to their swiftly-unraveling reality. "Do you think…is it going to hurt, Tim?" she inquires tremulously.

There again, he doesn't know quite what to say. "I'm...I'm not…probably not," he lies.

She hits him again, a little more playfully this time. "What'd I tell you about lying to me?"

The pins and needles spread through his whole body and fade to numbness. Somehow, he finds the ability to ground himself, to lock his arms squarely around his girlfriend. Through the roar of the wind in his ears, he can hear himself telling her, "If we get through this…we may not know each other anymore."

Tam's lips press against his cheek, warm and wet and soft. "I won't have any trouble getting to know you again," she breathes into his ear. "Drop into my hotel room next time you're getting chased by assassins."

He allows himself a small laugh. Their first meeting was not the best.

A cold touch on the back of his neck makes Tim tremble, and then he knows it's come for them, this whirlwind. He can feel it pulling at his mind, knocking down every barrier and pulling open every door, rooting through his thoughts, memories, and emotions like a thief searching for valuables. A fog descends over him, and suddenly, he finds that he can't quite recall who this girl in his arms is, or how he knows her, but he knows they're very close, and it hurts him to hear her weeping like this. He gives her a hug, tips her head up so that they can see into each other's eyes, and kisses her. When he pulls away, she asks, "It's the end, isn't it?"

Tim doesn't answer her. He just smiles and states, whole-heartedly, "I love you."

They don't have time to think as the universe breaks apart around them.

Where there once was color, there is now only darkness. Tim's eyesight blurs, and it's like someone's tearing the girl from his grasp. He reaches out to grab her, to pull her back into his embrace, but his hands are filled, not with flesh, but only cool, empty air. She's drifting away from him, going someplace he'll never find her, before he'll ever get the chance to help her. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he questions why he feels so much for her. After all, his memory—if he ever had one at all—is apparently unable to supply him with this girl's identity. By all accounts, he doesn't know her. But the barest, deepest level of him isn't exactly wiped out. He can tell that, somewhere inside, he remembers. He loves her, will always love her. And his heart starts throbbing with a near-unbearable pain. A voice speaks into the inky black shadows, saying, "Timothy Drake of Earth, you are still needed in the new reality."

His last thought, before his mind blanks and he loses consciousness, is that he never heard her answer.

**~R~**

Six months have gone by since Tim first took up the identity of Red Robin. He's barely scraping by, according to the standards of most, but it's better than the alternative. He's heading back home at sunrise, watching as the first orange light of early morning glints off the high-rises composing the Gotham City skyline. He was born and raised in this city, has lived here all his life, and wouldn't want to be anyplace else, but he's seen what the streets of his hometown can do to a desperate young person with no place else to go. He's watched too many of them die to be able to say otherwise, and that's what helps him keep his head in the right place.

He turns into a narrow, dingy little alley and heads for the familiar stone apartment complex. Clambering up the rickety old fire escape, he squeezes through the window into his tiny apartment and dumps his bag on the floor. It's full of his suit and gear, and he really should hide it, but he collapses onto his plushy couch instead. He can't work up the energy. Last night was rough, and he needs to rest for a while before he can think about his other life again.

Just as his eyes slide closed, a breeze wafts into the room, and Tim is immediately at attention, bolting upright to look around the apartment. It's not that he's trying to find the source of the wind, considering he did leave the window open. It's just that…it's oddly familiar. He's felt that cold touch, feathery light and gentle as a mother's caress, before, in some distant memory or dream. He shivers when the draft comes in again, and the voice that comes with it is so soft, so quiet, that it's like a light wind in of itself, and it says to him, _"I love you, too."_

It tugs at something in his mind and heart, and he gets a strange sense of relief and satisfaction from the words. He can sense that it's a whispered reply to a long-forgotten question, or profession, perhaps, and in his mind's eye, Tim glimpses the face of a beautiful young woman with dark skin and eyes, smiling at him affectionately as she turns and glides away into the dark, just out of reach.

**~End~**


End file.
